


Thunderstorms

by dyingpoet



Series: Sprace one shots [28]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Sleepiness, im so very tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 09:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17846936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet
Summary: Spot doesn't want Race to walk back to Manhattan in the rain





	Thunderstorms

**Author's Note:**

> idk whats going on i wrote this in like an hour and a half dont judge me

Race, as far as he’d been concerned, had actually been a pretty good person as of late. He’d been pick pocketing less, he didn’t stop completely but it  _ was  _ less, and he’d played an entire poker game in Brooklyn and hadn’t cheated once. Counting cards wasn’t  _ really  _ cheating, it was just math, and he’d go down saying that one. 

So, he didn’t see any real reason why god would be fucking with him as much as he was. 

“More of a swim back than a walk, huh Race?” Ashes clapped a hand on Race’s shoulder as he walked past him toward the Brooklyn bunks, winking when Race flipped him off. 

“Could probably afford a carriage with all the money I got from ya,” he snapped back, but Ashes had already disappeared up the stairs. 

Groaning as another clap of thunder shook the lodge house, Race tucked his money pouch away inside the pocket of his jacket before turning around to look for his hat. It wouldn’t really make much of a difference, but it’d save him a lecture from Crutchie and Specs about catching pneumonia. 

“Looking for something?”

Starting briefly at the sudden hand on his shoulder, Race turned to look at Spot, who was swinging his, admittedly tattered, hat in his hand. For a rough looking guy he got pretty relaxed once the selling day was over.

“Yeah, thanks,” Race answered, making a grab for the hat. Spot pulled it away though, holding it behind his back when Race let out a whine. 

“Where ya goin’ with it?”

“Jersey,” Race deadpanned, halfheartedly grabbing at Spot’s arm to try and pull it forward. “Just give it back.”

Spot just took a step back, yawning as he did so. “As good of a sellin’ day it’d give us to get ‘Local Street Rat Drowns’ as a headline, I think Kelly’d prefer it if I kept ya here.”

Race dropped his shoulders, not really in the mood to keep up with Spot’s banter, but sleeping in Brooklyn meant he’d have to get up even earlier to get back to Manhattan or Jack’d sick the bulls on the whole lodge house looking for him. 

“Since when do you do Jackie’s bidding?” 

Spot barked out a gruff laugh, leaning back against the wall. “Not gonna bait me into that one, Racer.”

Race let out a low whine, a flash of lightning through the window illuminating Spot’s slightly bemused face. “I don’t need the hat to walk out, y’know.”

“Ya askin’ me to drag you up the stairs?” Spot questioned, raising his eyebrows. “You and me both know I’ll do it.”

He was right, and Race begrudgingly allowed himself to be pushed up the rickety staircase to the bunk room, too exhausted and annoyed to pretend like he didn’t know where Spot’s room was. It was a little ways off the main bunk room, and Race saw it as pretty much the same thing as Jack’s penthouse, though Spot would emphatically disagree with him on that one. 

When Race walked in he flopped down on the bed after two quick steps, and heard the door slam shut behind him. 

“Hope ya know you’se sleepin’ on the floor,” Spot said from somewhere behind him. 

Race flipped him off. “Funny, you’ve begged for me not to do that before.”

He lifted his head and got a cuff to the back of it. “I ain’t ever begged.”

“Agree to disagree.”

He sat up and stretched out his arms, taking his money pouch from his jacket pocket and tossing it on the floor before stripping off the jacket itself and his shirt. It was hot for September and he did like screwing with Spot a little bit. 

When he swung his legs up onto the bed, Spot had already rolled under the covers with his back to him.

“Ya bring me up here and don’t even entertain,” Race chastised. He shoved lightly at Spot’s shoulder when he got no response. “Brooklyn really don’t got any manners, huh?”

Spot snorted and Race grinned when he turned over. “Nah, just provin’ I ain’t the one that’s gotta beg.”

Race gasped, feigning shock, turning his head to the side when Spot leaned in toward him. “See, no manners at all.”

Keeping his eyes resolutely on the ceiling, and working decently hard to keep the grin off of his face, Race ignored Spot kicking at his leg. “I’m withholdin’.”

“Damn, they teachin’ ya some fancy words over there,” Spot said, “You’se all startin’ to sound like that Davey.”

Race did laugh a little at that, and turned his head to the side to come back with something when Spot leaned in, pressing his lips to his before he got the chance. Whining slightly from the back of his throat, Race held it for a few seconds before pulling back. 

“No fair.”

“Life ain’t fair,” Spot shrugged, yawning heavy. Race figured he was going to be out for the night soon enough, and from the sound of the rain pounding at the roof over their heads, he wouldn’t be able to sneak back either. Spot would’ve killed him if he did, but still, the morning walk was still looming at the back of his mind. 

“Don’t be lookin’ at the window like that, either.” Spot’s voice broke into his thoughts, and Race looked over at him to see a pair of rather tired looking eyes. “You’ll slip and break ya damn neck if ya try anything.”

Race shifted a bit closer to him, head resting on his arm as he yawned himself. “Wouldn’t think of it, this place’s practically high class.”

“Damn right,” Spot mumbled. 

Race watched him silently as his breathing leveled out. He looked a lot younger while he slept, and Race was fairly sure he was the only one in lodging right now who’d ever gotten to see him like this. 

The problem, he figured, was that Race himself wasn't too good at getting enough sleep. Spot could sleep like a rock any time of the day, and Race could usually manage to snag a few hours here and there every night. If got got more than three in a more he called it a good night. 

So, he shifted to lie back on his back, kicking a little at the thin cover lying over the two of them. There might be a few guys still up who he could start a game with, but as sleepless as he was, he didn’t really feel like getting out of bed and focusing on a game. Moving around, now that he couldn’t help. 

After about twenty minutes of switching from his back to his side to his stomach to his other side, he finally ended up shaking the mattress pretty hard, and Spot groaned. 

“Can’t ya settle down?” he drawled out, eyes slits staring back at Race. “Just lay down.”

“Damn that’s good advice, never thought of that one before.” Race’s sarcasm was probably poorly timed, and he got a sharp kick to the shin a beat later. “I was jokin’.”

“And I was sleepin’,” Spot shot back. “Ain’t you tired?”

Race nodded jerkily. “Yeah, but that don’t really mean nothin’, does it?”

Spot was quiet, and Race figured he’d actually fallen asleep when an arm shot out, pulling Race in towards Spot’s chest.

“Thanks for warnin’ me,” Race grumbled, shifting against Spot before finding his legs tangled together, and Spot’s hand closed over his wrist.

“Stop squirmin’, just lie still.”

Sighing, Race pressed his eyes closed, breathing in the strangely smoky scent of Spot  from where his head was settled in the crook of his neck. He was actually making an effort to be still, Spot was warm and it was helping slow down his mind a little, when he felt a vibration go through his own chest from Spot’s. He was humming.

What exactly he was humming Race didn’t know, once when he got a real bad fever and Spot had sung to him in Spanish, so it might be something like that, but it felt oddly nice. 

The rhythm of whatever it was rumbled in Race’s own chest, and nearly drowned out the sound of the rain, even. Without realizing it, he moved a bit closer into Spot, and yawned deeply again. 

From above, he felt Spot press a kiss softly to the top of his head, and he squeezed the hand he was holding tightly for a second. 

He was out moments after.

* * *

 

The sunlight hit Race’s eyes like hangover sun, and instinctively he drew up his arm to shield his face, but he felt stuck. Sleepily, he looked away from the window to sleep Spot curled into his side, trapping his arm between both of his, and, once Race tried to move his legs, keeping both of his legs in place as well. 

Quietly, he tried to untangle himself from the other boy, and actually got about halfway there before being tugged back down with surprising strength. 

“Lay down,” Spot said through a yawn, looking at Race through heavy eyes. “The day ain’t runnin’ off from ya yet.”

When he rolled his eyes and tried again to get up, Spot pulled him back down stubbornly, and Race groaned. 

“C’mon-”

Spot shushed him, and before Race could continue he started humming softly again, like he had been the night before. 

And Race really,  _ really _ , hated himself for it, but he genuinely felt himself falling asleep again, it was like some weird kind of magic. 

The humming continued. Jack would have to wait. 

**Author's Note:**

> did u like this?? if yes, leave a kudos/comment below!!! if no, do the same bc it's really not hurting anybody is it :)


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